


Hooked on a Feeling

by buckycap



Series: Till the End of the Line Pal [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckycap/pseuds/buckycap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier has just dragged Steve Rogers out of the Potomac, programming screams at him to run so why is he still sitting there? There's a feeling that's hooked on and won't let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hooked on a Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a gifset from Kings on my dash and this idea had been niggling at me for so long so, ta-da!

            He’s only just pulled the body out from the river, his chest heaving with the effort of swimming the distance and hauling Captain America up onto the shore while fighting the pain in his right shoulder. It feels like broken glass under the skin, scratching and tearing with even the slightest of movements and while the Soldier is one to deal with pain, this is somewhat sickening. It reminds him of a time long ago when he crashed through a window at a bad angle and ended up with shards in places there shouldn’t be. Rumlow had forced him on though, made him keep running, keep working and so he had learned to work through the pain.

                                      —he shouldn’t even be able to _remember_ that.

            A growl rumbles up as a result of the frustration, things in his mind that shouldn’t be there and everything is falling apart faster than he can bear. The man at his feet is yet to stir and James is surprised at the pleading in his heart, this desperation for the man to wake up, to breathe and give some signal that he is alive. When air finally does make it’s way into Steve’s lungs, there’s no flurry of activity. Just a dribble of water out the side of his mouth, beaten lips pressing together as he reflectively swallowed down what was in his throat. But the Captain showed no signs of waking, only a small roll of his head as he subconsciously sought the clearest path to gain air. James took a half step backwards but when the Captain showed no other sign of waking up, he simply stared down. He was alive. A failed mission. He could no longer trick himself, no longer tell himself that he pulled the man out of the water as simple evidence that he had completed his mission. Because even now, staring down at the bloodied, beaten form before him, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the job. It felt so wrong, so disgustingly wrong but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

            Just a brief flash of a memory, of a smaller boy with a mop of blonde hair and the rush of feeling he had connected to that. The rise and fall of Steve’s chest is jerky, slow; and James isn’t sure why. He doesn’t think, doesn’t try to reason. The gravel crunches sharply as he falls to his knees and shifts forward, dislocated arm tucked into his chest as he leans over the fallen Captain. His movements are skittish, poised to dart away and the first sign of danger but the man just lies there and James isn’t sure what the feeling twisting in his gut is, but it’s not something he appreciates. The sound of machinery softly whirring is lost in the sound of the chaos around them as James lays a metal hand on the chest of the man he was so intent on beating to death. There’s life under his fingers, the sensors in his arm are picking it up but it’s not enough. He could still die right there and the thought of that now brings a coldness clawing up James’ spine. He needs… something, only he’s unsure what. Water drips steadily from his soaked hair, his uniform squelches, water logged and disagreeing with his further movement of leaning up and over the Captain’s face. The bruising is beginning to show and James makes a sound of distress as something painful shoots through him but it doesn’t feel physical, it feels…. it is simply _there._ He frowns, screwing up his eyes and for a moment there is nothing but silence.

            He can’t hear the waves, can’t hear the burning wreckage, can’t even hear the jets up above. When he opens his eyes, it’s not a beaten face beneath him. James stares in shock at the smooth, chiseled, smiling face beneath him. Striking, bright blue eyes, full lips and not a single injury to be accounted for. A frown creases James’ forehead but still the assassin doesn’t move, he simply watches as those red lips stretch into a smile.

            "Bucky? The hell are you doing?" The non-beaten Steve seems to be studying him and James tenses out of anger and confusion. _That name._ He doesn’t **know** it! He’s about to respond when the man leans up, closing the gap scarily fast and there’s a press of warmth against the assassin’s lips. Steve’s eyes close over but James’ stay awake and horrified, until he finds his whole body going lax and melting into the kiss. It’s… unlike anything he has ever experienced and his metal hand rises to lightly touch the man currently sucking on his lips. Only James see’s flesh fingers, not metal. The sight is enough for him to scramble back with a grunt of pain, kicking over the gravel until he’s a safe distance away and staring, panting at his metal as the world shifts and roars back into focus. Metal fingers, pain through his form and a motionless, beaten soldier on the beach. It’s deep confusion that washes over the assassin, the heel of his palm pressing to the center of his forehead and kneading to try and ease the pain that lies there.

                                   The fuck was that?

            A memory, just like the younger boy with the mop of blonde hair. Only that one has left James feeling warm and his heart is beating faster and faster. He leans closer to the shallow breathing form and lets out a breath when he see’s the man is still unconscious. The memory however does give him an idea and as he shuffles closer, he runs his eyes over the beaten form before him. A man that seems to know him yet James can’t shake the knowledge — or what he believes to be knowledge — that he is nothing more than a weapon. Still, when he’s close enough to the soldier James leans down once more and presses his lips to the motionless man. It’s almost like the memory in terms of James keeping his eyes open but the lips he is pressing against are cold and when he pulls away, his own taste like blood. Not even a second later, Steve’s own lips part in a gasp and his chest rises more than ever before. Even though he does not stir, his chest is moving faster now, deeper breaths that show a steady flow of air and James runs his tongue over his own lips in thought. Curious. The strange feeling that he cannot get a grasp on is dulled and the glass shard feeling in his shoulder flares up in it’s absence, but the painful noise in James’ head is quieter and to him, that is as close to a mission success as he dares to get. He pushes himself to his feet, wet boots sliding on the gravel as he searches for purchase before he glances out across the river and the wreckage that lays scattered there. The Captain would survive and James would have to face the wrath of his handler, of Pierce. It is something he will face because even if he does not know where he is, he does know better than he knows anything else, that Steve is not allowed to die. With a final glance to the fallen Captain, James turns and begins the trudge across the beach to disappear into the undergrowth.

 **  
**All of which are observed by a barely conscious Steve Rogers through a single very blurred eye. He felt the kiss, felt the light pressure and then the gaze of those empty eyes. He watches now, fighting to keep his chest moving as the man he once loved so dearly limps away from him. As darkness descends once more, he has a fleeting thought that no amount of armour can hide that perfect ass, a thought that dies with his consciousness.


End file.
